SUMMARY:
Plausible deniability. Despite sounding like something to avoid
stepping in at a dog park, everybody wants it – even Jake Foley.

AUTHOR
NOTES: I expanded the storyline and rewrote some of it to fall more
in line with further research into NSA/CSS operations. The actual
chain of command and job titles at SIGINT (Signals Intelligence) and
IA (Information Assurance) are different so I stuck as close to canon
as possible.

Be
warned, it's a little dark. It was meant to explore some of the
questions and possibilities raised in several of the fine J 2.0
stories already posted.

DISCLAIMER:
Jake 2.0 All rights belong to someone else. I'm just playing
make-believe.

Excerpted
from:

THE
SPY WHO REALLY LIKED ME

Written
by: Mark Wilder

WARNER:
Jake Foley is another matter. Did you see the way he stood up to us?
That's a soldier.

SKERRIT:
You like him?

WARNER:
Oh, my God, I hate and fear him, but a man like that, bent to your
will, could accomplish anything.

SKERRIT:
I don't believe he's bent to anyone's will.

WARNER:
No, that's the problem. One I intend to rectify.

Thick,
sandy hair, reflecting soft flaxen highlights. Straight nose
sprinkled over with freckles. Brilliant blue eyes. Lips molded in a
porpoise smile. A physical aura that attracted female and male alike.
Even bathed in the cold blue radiance of the computer monitor the
young man was handsome to the edge of beauty.

The
attention of the young man, and of the tall woman standing tensely
over his shoulder, was riveted on that computer monitor. The action
displayed there was being sent through a remote video-conferencing
camera.

Dressed
in medical scrubs and caps, a woman and two men were moving equipment
around a man restrained on a reclining gurney. The medical team's
movements hinted that they were aware of the camera, even in
deference to it. One of the men stepped away, revealing that he had
been adjusting a thin metal apparatus that hooked under the subject's
eyelids, preventing them from closing over the eyeball. A blue
colored bite block was secured between the confined man's jaws; his
hand nearest the camera rocked fitfully in its wrist strap, fingers
splayed, making pushing motions, meeting only empty air.

"Hmm..."
the young man purred. "Tied down and gagged, just the way I like
them."

His
companion's hand rested lightly on his shoulder. She turned her hand.
The tip of a tapered, polished thumbnail traced the hairline up
behind his ear, increasing pressure until he flinched.

"Kidding,
kidding." He ducked, turning a teasing
little-boy-caught-doing-mischief
expression up to her.

"No,
you're not." She rebuked him with a thin, indulgent smile. She
was well aware that, fed by his wealth--a wealth so secured that, as
yet, even the best government agents hadn't found it all--his
proclivities ran to self-indulgence and that how he took his pleasure
wasn't limited by socially tolerated mores, by sexual orientation, or
even same species as far as she knew.

"You
are hoping this is a success, Kevin?" She moved a caressing
fingertip along the thin, rough scar that started at the point of his
jaw and stopped just short of the corner of his mouth; the only thing
that marred the impelling physical perfection of the man. "You
wouldn't be holding a grudge? That must be difficult to look at every
morning when you shave."

"Executive
Director Warner, I've worked very hard for this moment. I want
Agent Jake Foley alive and working for the NSA..." he leaned
into her touch, as would a cat asking to be stroked, "…for a
long, long time."

Through
lowered lashes he had an excellent view of the lacy fabric embracing
the rounded forms that rose and fell under her thin camisole as she
breathed. He'd have to thank Leon for cranking up the air
conditioning when she was here. Maybe he would remind him he wasn't
erasing his web page history from the cellblock's computer. Do
everyone a favor. How was it even possible to find boring porn sites,
anyway?

He
knew the team in the med lab prepping Foley was anticipating
seizures, doubling emergency protocols, covering all the bases,
covering all their establishment butts. The test rats had seized.
Well, what could they expect? How could you write comprehensive
programming for rodents? The wisecrack was just to get a rise out of
her, just to see if he could.

He
always pushed. If he could push someone past mere words, threats, to
the point of striking him; the actual physical act of crossing that
personal boundary, then he had them, knew their weakness. Their
emotions betrayed them all. Greed turned to envy, and envy turned to
anger, and anger…anger could be turned to anything he wanted.
Everybody was greedy for something.

Mark
Benton, that sad little closet queen. A shrink worth his pretensions
should have known to check his fantasies at the door. He'd worked the
NSA's psychologist
simply
because he was bored with his prison routine. Until he'd realized
that, through Doctor Benton, he had access to the entire NSA
personnel's psychological evaluation files.

So
easy to fulfill a heart's desire when it was known. He could make
that happen. A flirtation, a no-strings-fully-funded research grant,
a reassignment to field agent status, a coveted appointment, revenge
on an ex-husband…if people insisted on being low-hanging fruit how
could anyone blame a man for picking it? His eyes were drawn back to
the monitor screen, fascinated, enjoying the mildly exciting tingle
he felt as he watched.

She
considered the man, body hunched in rapt attention to the screen.
She'd seen men gaze at the televisions in sports bars in that same
way. Possessed by the brutal entertainment; voyeurs and ersatz
participants.

At
every turn she wondered about the events that had put them on the
same side. He, a sociopath who happened to be a brilliant software
engineer. She, a director of national security for one of the most
powerful countries in the world.

Kevin
Gerald Flynn a.k.a., "DuMont". Odd, the timing that brought
him to the agency's attention, more unfortunately for him, to Agent
Foley's attention. This one had been caught with his hand in a
federal cookie jar, the Fifth Federal Reserve Bank to be exact. He'd
contrived to hijack and crash a corporate jet. Plotted an elaborate
plan to escape incarceration. Nearly got away with crippling and
stealing one of their research application projects; Agent Foley. And
in every case Agent Jake Foley was the reason DuMont's wanton
lifestyle was to be severely curtailed for many, many years.
Convincing him to apply his talents to help the agency solve a
problem hadn't been all that difficult, and if he needed to consider
it a little payback, that didn't bother her.

For
her, Jake Foley was an imminent disaster. A twist of fate and
suddenly some boy scoutish computer support tech embodies a half
billion dollars of her country's leading edge nanite technology.
The human-molecular computer synergy had produced some impressive
abilities; with the capacity for more to develop. That the asset
would be used had never been in question. The NSA had agreed to
utilize it by making Foley an agent, but what good was an asset if it
couldn't be controlled? How long would it be before Foley's
"conscience" put an operation in real peril? How could she
trust her country's safety to a man whose attitude to his superiors
was, in her opinion, insubordinate?

She
believed that everything happened for a reason--could the answer to
her problem be so simple a thing? Their mutual hatred of the man
shown on the computer camera?

DuMont
spoke and it startled her to find that she had been running her
fingers gently through his hair.

"When
they download my entire program into him he'll be perfectly tame.
He'll follow his orders without question. Any orders." He
glanced up again, watching her, shrewdness barely concealed, "I
even slipped in a subroutine… . A gift, just for you." The
small smile, so clever.

"What
are you talking about?"

"Just
thinking. When the nights get long…and I'm so far away. Haven't
you ever wondered?" He nodded slightly toward the monitor. "I
mean, the enhanced strength, the stamina, the healing; how the
nanites would affect that in a certain area? And we both know you are
a woman with…vigorous...needs."

"You're
disgusting!"

He
rolled his shoulders, a noncommittal gesture, looked back at the
screen. The restrained man's hand movements had slowed. Only a
lethargic curling of the fingers now.

"DuMont,
I'll bet the serpent in the garden was you." Her voice was
harsh.

He
turned wide blue eyes at her, hurt evident. "Haven't I done
everything you asked? The electromagnetic pulse wiped out his
memories. The nanites will build the new neural paths and keep the
old ones blocked. You've got your super agent. I've kept my
promise. Now keep yours."

She
had an overpowering urge to kick him, knock him right out of that
chair. Wouldn't do any good. He'd whimper, apologize, and beg her to
stay with him. If she did...the tears would dry as if they'd never
been. He was duplicitous and treacherous. But you used the assets you
had, to do the job that needed to be done.

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